


The Gods Have Never Been So Kind

by gaygreekgladiator (ama)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Cats, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Canon Compliant, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/gaygreekgladiator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castus is reunited with an old love whom he had thought lost forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gods Have Never Been So Kind

**Author's Note:**

> DID SOMEBODY ASK FOR CASTUS/OMC FIC? PROBABLY NOT. DON'T CARE.
> 
> This has just kind of been sitting around on my computer forever. It's a sequel-ish-of-sorts to [Other Stories](http://archiveofourown.org/works/726594), which first introduced Shai as Castus's love interest and Magister as Castus's cat. (Shai was also been featured in rivlee's Capua Way 'verse.) This was also partly inspired by [this picture](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_azb7-z33VWA/TQNZCsnLRTI/AAAAAAAB8bM/1Ze-igc0RkU/s400/73.jpg) of Shai's faceclaim, the ever-fabulous Willy Cartier. Hopefully one of these days I'll get around to writing the actual legit fic for these two. Until then enjoy the extremely coincidental happy ending~~

Castus rocked back and forth—only slightly, so that he did not have to face the indignity of dying face-first in the snow—to try and generate some kind of heat. It was not particularly effective. He was grateful for the cloak, and had to remember to again thank the short, loud man who had given it to him, but the rest of his clothes were not suitable for this weather, and he was beginning to wonder not if he were going to survive the night, but the hour. He was staring off into the distance when shadows began to form, and then take recognizable shapes, and he decided that Death was walking towards him. Death, in the form of a long-haired Syrian draped in dark robes, and a grey cat.

The figure walked slowly, glancing around, and then caught sight of Castus. For one moment it seemed stuck in its tracks, and then it walked faster, towards him. He recognized it. The hair, the brows, the dark, serious eyes. A dream _, he thought._ Only a dream _._

Shai stopped dead, a foot away, when he saw Castus’s bound hands. Castus stared up at him, weighing the evidence of his own eyes with what he knew to be true. Shai, _his_ Shai, was in Tarsus, in a whorehouse, in a little room with a bed covered in dull white sheets and a scrap of blue-striped cloth over the doorway. He was owned by a tall Greek with an oily beard, and he always wore the necklace Castus had given him and a half-dozen other trinkets bestowed upon him over the few years they had been… well. Fucking. In love. Whatever they had been.

This Shai was wearing more clothes (he had to, in this weather, though a death vision really had no need to worry about the snow, did it?), and they were all in deep blacks and greys—colors his Shai would have found deplorably boring. The only spot of color on his person was his earring, a round red stone that resembled the one on Castus’s necklace. He was carrying a bag slung over his shoulder, and inside that bag was a fluffy grey cat.

“What have you done?” the vision asked. “You are the only one bound.”

Castus looked down at his hands, and then back up at Shai.

“How…?”

Shai looked as though he was going to snap at him, but he didn’t. He knelt down, and very gently rested his hand against Castus’s cheek.

“You’re cold,” he said, concerned. There was a yowl at his side, and lifted the protesting cat from his bag. “And you lost Magister.”

The cat leapt lightly on Castus’s knee, and then climbed up his chest to perch happily on his shoulder. The little pinpricks of its claws were painful, and it dawned on him that this might possibly be real. He was glad—he had been worried that Magister had still been on Heracleo’s ship during the battle, and who knew whether it was in sailing condition or at the bottom of the sea.

“I thought you lost to me,” Castus said through numb lips. Shai flashed a bitter smile.

“The advantage of being a boy whore—sometimes you grow too old, and are shipped off to Rome to work the fields, at the same time as a slave rebellion is tearing through the countryside.”

“The gods have never been so kind.”

“Only once. Why are you bound?” he asked again.

Before Castus could answer, Shai was reaching for the ropes at his wrist, and then the point of a sword touched his neck.

“What is your fucking purpose?” Agron growled.

Castus’s first instinct was to stand, but his position did not allow him to do any more than rock forward and then tumble back, his weight off-balance. Magister yowled and stood, his claws digging into Castus’s shoulder. And Shai looked up at Agron, completely bewildered and mouth agape. He looked at Castus pleadingly, wide-eyed, and Castus wondered if he could strangle Agron with his hands tied together. Bad enough to put a bare blade to the skin of a non-combatant—but of _course_ he had chosen to give his orders in a language that Shai did not speak.

“He sought to know—” Castus began. Agron glared at him.

“Keep words behind lips. I do not care to hear them from _you_. Well?” he demanded impatiently of Shai, who could do nothing but shrug.

“Agron.”

Castus could have wept with relief—Nasir was there, hidden behind his giant-like lover. Castus had not seen him before, but he had enough reliance on Nasir’s fairness to keep Shai from being spitted, at least. Lovingly, Nasir shoved Agron out of the way and addressed Shai properly, in Greek.

“You seek to free a man bound by order of Spartacus. Why?”

“He is freezing,” Shai responded, gesturing piteously at Castus’s hands. “I owe Spartacus my freedom and I would obey his commands, but not at the expense of Castus’s life.”

Nasir looked at him a long moment, his face inscrutable.

“Who are you?” he asked finally. Shai hesitated.

“A slave.”

“I knew him in Cilicia,” Castus added, also in Greek, because he could tell that Agron was beginning to get annoyed as the conversation progressed in a language he could not understand. “He was a slave in a city there, and was sold to Rome.”

“Are you not a pirate?” Nasir asked, poorly attempting to conceal his suspicion. “Not a member of Heracleo’s crew?”

“No. I am unarmed, also.”

He held back his sleeves, lifted the bottom of his shirt, and opened the bag for Nasir’s inspection, and finally Nasir nodded and turned to translate the conversation for Agron. They spoke in low tones, so that Castus could not here their words. With the sword sheathed, Magister relaxed his grip in Castus’s flesh, for which he was grateful.

“What have you done to earn such disapproval?” Shai asked, for the third time, in a quiet whisper. He looked nervous, and Castus wondered if he was doubting years-old memories—if he was thinking that, perhaps, Castus was rougher and crueler than he had seemed. He attempted to soothe such fears, if they existed, by flashing his best roguish grin.

“Nothing that will not shock you.”

Shai looked at him curiously, and then began to shake with suppressed laughter, and Castus knew that he understood. He pouted outrageously, and Shai tapped him fondly on the cheek.

“One day you must learn to keep tongue in mouth, and out of trouble.”

_And on that day, the world shall weep_ , Castus thought, but Agron was turning around again with an extremely grumpy face, and he thought it wise to keep his tongue to himself this one time, in danger of losing it permanently.

The rebel general knelt and grunted a rough word at Shai—it was not Greek or Latin, and Castus hazarded a guess that it must be German. Nasir rolled his eyes, which seemed to support the theory, and Castus had to smile to himself. He had not expected Agron to be so childish in return, and it made him almost likeable.

Then Agron drew a knife, and the smile was wiped from his face.

Without a word, Agron began to hack at the thick ropes, while Castus stared at him in mute shock.

“You would see me free?” he asked finally.

“Action born of Nasir’s plea,” Agron replied in a sullen voice. “Know that absent it, my blade would be slick with Cilician blood.”

His suspicious eye fell on Shai again, and Shai stared just as sulkily back.

“Gratitude,” Castus said, attempting to inject some sincerity to his expression.

Agron stood with a nod, and walked away. He said something to Nasir as he passed him, but Castus could not hear it, because Shai immediately pulled him into a kiss.

Gods. Again, he wondered if he was dying, because the warmth, the passion, the sheer _need_ in the kiss was almost overwhelming. Shai’s body was pressed tightly against his, his arms wrapped around his waist. Castus reached up and buried his hands in Shai’s hair, and thanked every god who might hear him that he had not been forced to cut it, like so many slaves who travelled by sea. It would be a tragedy meeting or perhaps eclipsing the loss of Heracleo’s entire crew in Sinuessa.

Their noses were crushed together and Castus was starting to see spots, so he reluctantly pulled away in order to gulp for air. Immediately, Shai turned his head and frowned. Castus followed his gaze but saw nothing except Nasir and Agron’s retreating backs.

“What draws your gaze?” he asked, puzzled.

“Nothing of importance.”

Wordlessly, Castus smirked and touched his thumb to Shai’s lower lip, which was protruding just slightly. It always gave him away, no matter how much Shai tried to hide it. Annoyed, he smacked Castus’s hand away, but Castus only laughed and replaced his finger with his own lips.

“Reunited for but a breath and you already tell me lies.”

“I do not.”

Shai rearranged himself so that he was sitting across Castus’s thighs, and spread their cloaks together. Already Castus could feel himself warming up, and he was grateful. Magister leapt down to Shai’s lap and Castus buried his hands in the cat’s warm fur. Magister purred.

Shai’s eyes flickered away again, and something clicked in his mind.

“Are you _jealous_?”

“No.”

“But you are worried,” Castus said, tracing the line of Shai’s cheek.

“Other boys in other cities, you said,” Shai mumbled, shrugging.

“Not Nasir,” Castus chuckled. “You have just met his man—do you think I would yet be living if I had laid hand upon him?”

“You desire him, do you not? He is beautiful…”

“By which you mean he looks like you.”

Shai shrugged insolently, and his hair rippled over his shoulders. They were silent for a few long minutes, curling together to keep out the cold. The wind scraped mercilessly at their skin and the snow dusted Shai’s hair. Magister hopped out of their embrace curiously and investigated; he nosed the snow for a few minutes and then returned, looking as bored as only a cat can.

“Reunited for but a breath and demanding promises of faithfulness,” Shai muttered, with a self-deprecating smile on his face. “I do not care—I have waited for five damned years to ask the man I love who his heart belongs to. And if you answer wrongly,” he said sweetly, toying with the fur edging of Castus’s cloak. “Then Magister will cut it out for me. We have become very close friends, you know, while we wandered the whole of Sinuessa to look for you.”

Castus kissed him three times on the lips.

“My heart, my hands, my cock, my troublesome tongue are all yours,” he promised. A yawn overtook him. “And when I wake from this dream, it will still be the truth, until the end of all days.”

Saying the words was like drinking honey. It had been a very difficult love affair, he remembered that now—Castus’s purse dictated how often they could be in each other’s company, and even then there were some words too precious to exchange where others could hear them. Castus had not liked Shai’s dominus; in fact, he still would like very much to stick a knife in him and give it a good twist. And when they had decided that the affair must end… it had caused him no shortage of pain, it was true, but after a while he had been able to lock the pain away. To convince himself that the memories had faded, so that he could indulge in the pleasures of flirtation and romance and sex without guilt. It had been cruel of him, perhaps. He had taken many lovers since last he saw Shai, and if he had been asked ten minutes ago he would have said that Nasir was the man he most desired in the world.

Yet, even with his head full of Nasir, Castus could not deny that Shai held his heart. It had been true for many years, and would for many more. Shai kissed his forehead.

“Sleep,” he commanded softly. His fingers trailed down Castus’s neck and traced along the brass links of his necklace. Three came to rest on the bright red stone in the center. It had been a gift, long ago. “I did not think to find this yet around your neck,” he murmured. “With so many other treasures to be found on the sea.”

“None so valuable,” Castus said, yawning again.

“Dominus took the necklace you gave me,” Shai frowned. “And the ring. This, he left me, because so many of us were given such tokens upon entering slavery…”

He touched his earring lightly. Castus leaned up and kissed it, and then the corner of Shai’s lips. He wanted to say something flirtatious and romantic, but the day rested heavily upon him. He had been punched too many times again, and had not been able to force down enough gruel. He closed his eyes and rested his head against Shai’s warm shoulder. Together, they slept.


End file.
